Maitresse en Titre
by AllytheCat
Summary: The Warden Commander has business at Lake Calenhad. Pre-Awakenings, ratings may go up later... fem!Arnell/Alistair
1. Chapter 1

Nobody could see just how interested they were in the figure that stepped out of the carriage -- that is, of course, one of the advantages of plate armor. As the driver reached out his hand, a gloved hand took it. Then an elegant boot appeared, followed --pleasantly-- by rather more leg than the silk dress would normally show. The men could not help but notice the charming bounce of her bosom as the lovely woman stepped out of her carriage. The Templars couldn't tell whether the woman was displeased or simply surprised to see the four of them standing by the docks of lake Calenhad; but for one arched eyebrow, her face was placid. She smiled as the coachman handed her parcel to her guards. Looking a little pale, the man pulled out a staff, which the woman took herself.

Four men wearing the King's coat of arms, her guards, followed her towards the docks. For all that four royal guards were an impressive party, the Templars were rather glad she had not brought some of her previous travelling companions with her. The enormous stone golom with a penchant for "head squishing" had been particularly frightening, although the scantily clad maleficar had been almost as upsetting. The woman stood before the Templars and waited for them to speak.

"The Knight-Commander told us to wait for you," a Templar told her, not removing his helm.

"Doubtless, he only wished to honor me with such a fine guard," the woman said. Her tone was equivocal. Certainly it would not be unreasonable for the Hero of Ferelden, the King's own Chancellor and most trusted advisor, to command such a welcome. However, to the Templars, who remembered both her bland, even pleasing, deference as a mage and the bold way she strode into the tower as a Grey Warden, there was an edge they couldn't quite place. Was it mockery, impertinence, simple annoyance, or even worse, challenge?

After a few moments' awkward silence, the woman smiled her most pleasing smile. This too, the Templars remembered, for she had smiled often when passing them on her way to the First Enchanter's office, or the library, or even to the temple she visited more than most mages.

"I suppose it wouldn't really be coming home to the tower without a Templar guard; all mages come here that way," she said, sportingly. "However, it seems we have a rather large and armored party for Kester for ferry across. Perhaps it would be best if you waited for me in Redcliffe," she said, turning to her own guards.

"My Lady, the King ordered us to accompany you."

"I am sure his Majesty will be content that you left me with holy warriors," she said, without a discernible trace of irony. "Tell His Majesty and Eamon what happened and come back on the 15th. I will only be staying a week, then it's on to Orzammar'". The King's men knew a dismissal when they heard one. One handed the nearest Templar the woman's parcel; all four saluted, then walked back towards the inn, where the coach waited with their horses.

The Templars were again disquieted. It was not the natural order of things for mages to give orders, much less to warriors. Nor, the more they looked at her, did her appearance seem at all proper. She did not wear the modest robes all Circle Mages wore, nor even the more risque Tervinter style robes some mages had been allowed to wear into battle. Her dress was fashionable and emphasized her figure. Rather than good fur-lined leather, her boots were shiny and appeared Orlesian, with a heel and pointed toe. They had expected to see her face framed by tendrils escaping from messy pigtails, the careless style she had worn since she was a girl. Instead, she had plaited it and put, of all things, a ribbon through it. They could hear the hum of magic, expensive magic, from her jewelry. She was the picture of an elegant, frivolous noblewoman, except for the mage's staff she had hung on her back. The whole picture was wrong, and a Templar's entire being is finely attuned to wrong. Arnell had returned, not as an enchanter, but as the King's whore.


	2. Chapter 2

She had come in her brazen finest, hoping it would make her feel less like a mage and more like a Chancellor. It was clear to her now that she had made the wrong decision -- perhaps she should have tried to find some very light armor instead? During the boat ride across, she realized two of the Templars kept looking her up and down, with what she imagined was disapproval; one seemed fixated on her breasts and one wouldn't look at her at all. Determined not to be intimidated, she held her head high and looked over the lake. She was here on Grey Warden business, as the Hero of Ferelden. She hoped they did not notice how often she glanced towards Redcliffe, where Alistair was meeting with Eamon. _Five days_ she thought to herself _he will join me in five days_.

Sitting in silence under their glare of their disapproval, she felt even more uncomfortable than she imagined she made them. As an apprentice, she had quietly accepted the Templar's glare. During her time in the tower, she had worked carefully to cultivate a reputation for diligence, chastity and virtue. Partially because of her notorious background, and partially because, at times, she felt danger in the gazes around her. As she aged, she occasionally felt danger in the gaze she could see in they eyes of her fellow mages. She knew, almost instinctively, how much more dangerous such a sexual gaze could be from one of her captors, all the more because she would rarely be able to see it through their implacable helms. Then, as Irving's star pupil, the Templar's gaze intensified. Any error she made could be turned into a chance to humiliate the First Enchanter, and she imagined that idea drove their gaze more intently than lust ever could. After all, in the Circle as with demons, pride was more powerful than desire. As Irving's apprentice, their gaze became so intense at times it tore her stomach to shreds. So many eyes were on her, most hoping she would fail and a few hoping as desperately she would continue to excel. Sometimes, it was only spite that drove her to excellence. She wanted to be perfect. She studied late into the night to be the perfect mage, sometimes cheated to help Jowan because she was his perfect friend, helped her classmates to show she would be the perfect enchanter, prayed the chant to show she was the perfect sinner, and was submissive and courteous to the Templars to show that she was the perfect captive.

For, if nothing else, she had always known she was a captive. In her first few years, she missed the sun most. All mages had milky, transluscent skin because it had been so long since they had seen the sun. The only times she had left the tower itself seared in her mind. Very occasionally, the apprentices were allowed on the tower grounds to gather elfroot. She remembered the strange joy she felt when, on her way to Ostagar, she saw freckles bloom on her nose. Duncan had laughed when she had excitedly shown them to him. Long before she met Wynne at Ostagar, Mianna had asked Irving if she could study healing with the powerful healer. In part, of course, this was because she liked how important she sounded when she talked of the noble art of healing. After all, magic was meant to serve man and what better way to serve than to heal? Of course, she never mentioned how much of her desire was due to the fact that healers left the tower much more frequently than most mages, called by nobles and even the Chantry itself to save lives.

Unfortunately, healing required more compassion and care than she could ever quite feel. She excelled at elemental spells, which was why she was Irving's apprentice in the first place, she would try to force her body to perform the healing magic. Her healing spells often failed because she couldn't muster the will. Healing was, in fact, the only thing she never excelled in. She hadn't even mastered the most basic healing spell when she left the tower, though she caused terrible damage with her cold and lightening. The Templars thought her devout, they did not know that at the temple she would desperately pray for a docility she could not feel or for an escape which she knew was impossible, sometimes cursing the Maker in front of the image of Andraste for trapping her there.

Perhaps that was why she never shared Jowan's intense hatred of Tranquility. After all, it was just the next layer of chains in this prison, a harsher punishment for those who could not follow its rules. Her first mentor had become unstable and submitted to Tranquility, a good third of the Circle was Tranquil. What did emotions do for a person here?, she would occasionally think bitterly to herself. Love could get you with child, love usually ended in sadness and sometimes ended in madness. She had sometimes, in her heart, scoffed at the idea she would be so easy a conduit to demons. _Demons would have to be pretty stupid to want to come here_, she often thought._ And besides, the only thing they could offer that I want is freedom. Freedom is impossible, why make a deal for the impossible? _She knew, even now that true freedom was impossible in the Circle, for mages or Templars. What other lesson could you take from Uldred's rebellion?

Besides, she would rather be watched by Templars than demons. Although she certainly disliked the Tower, she wasn't sure apostates fared much better. For all Morrigan's talk of freedom and self-sufficiency, it had taken a Circle mage to free her from the demon that had watched her since infancy. And that demon had watched Morrigan with far more interest and hunger than the Templars who had watched Mianna. No, Alistair would never admit it, but the two of them had obtained their freedom the same way Zevran had, by finally finding someone the organization that had taken them as children couldn't touch. The main difference was that the Crows had bought Zevran, while Alistair and Mianna had been foisted off on the Chantry.

She shook her head out of her reverie as she walked in the door. When she heard the heavy doors shut behind her, she could not quite fight her rising anxiety. The doors had been left open when she had visited the tower to ask a favor for Dagna and plead for help for Connor, when she had come here as a Warden. To enter the tower friendless and surrounded by Templars brought back that feeling of imprisonment she'd faced for thirteen years. Irving and Knight-Commander Gregoire awaited her in the entrance, and while she was sure that it was in part for ceremony, it also struck her that the two most important men in the tower, the men who controlled her destiny for thirteen years, were standing before her. It wasn't until Irving surprised her by reaching out and taking one of her hand in both of his, and smiled warmly that she felt welcome.

"Welcome home, child'" he said with genuine affection. Her eyes widened and she felt dangerous, treacherous tears.

"Welcome home, Hero of Ferelden," Knight Commander Gregoire said, and bowed slightly to her, arms crossed. The Templars who had brought her in her stood behind Gregoir and copied his gesture. Perhaps they were gratified to see the maidenly blush rise in her cheeks, or perhaps they only thought it ironic. Perhaps they were surprised when she placed her other hand on Irving's, or perhaps they just thought it confirmed the rumors that they had been lovers. Perhaps, as she curtsied (akwardly) to the men they were pleased, but then they may have been disgusted, or perhaps just wished she had worn Tervinter robes so they could see down her shirt. Perhaps, just perhaps, when the tears rolled down her cheeks, they were moved too. She would never know.


End file.
